


try to talk refined

by to-the-voiceless (larkgrace)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Fade to Black, Specific Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Voice Kink, now with a bonus stupid epilogue, trust me the dirty talk IS the explicit part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkgrace/pseuds/to-the-voiceless
Summary: With the sennight’s end and the reprieve it had brought Aymeric in his duties, though, he’d taken the first airship to Limsa Lominsa, arriving with his tender hands and gentle comfort that settled some of the restlessness crackling through her.Even if he was stoking it now like a fire.“The exertion might offer some manner of relief,” he said, punctuating his statement with a sip from his teacup, faintly steaming in the viscous air, the smell of syrup lost under the sweet, cloying aroma of the honeysuckle vine at his back. “Not that you should be allowed to overexert yourself, lest you exacerbate your injury.”--Hanami is bedridden and restless, and Aymeric is soveryhelpful.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	try to talk refined

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a prompt left by [pudgy puk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deumion/pseuds/pudgy%20puk) in the Book Club discord: “Aymeric with a perfectly straight face, polite tone, and cordial manner, telling his partner exactly what he plans to do with them after they’ve both finished this coffee and dessert.” thanks for rotting my brain, puk!
> 
> originally written for the FFXIVWrite2020 event. now polished and with a bonus stupid epilogue.

The humidity of the La Noscean spring left a haze in the air, a not-quite-fog diffusing the afternoon sunlight into something thick and visible and golden, swirling around the lush greenery of the Mists like honey. The public gardens lining the walkways seemed to overflow their borders in the heat, spilling green and pink and purple across neat white stone and drawing in humming insects, flitting along the sea breezes in jewel-tone streaks of color.

Pretty, Hanami supposed, even if she desperately didn’t want to be there, but bad luck had seen her stopping by the Company house to drop off an order of darksteel ingots when Adelaine caught her limping, and what Hanami had thought was a bone bruise had turned out to be a series of spiderweb-thin fractures running clear through her tibia. Adelaine had flayed her with a faerie-wing-quick tongue even as she had bound Hanami’s leg in plaster, leaving her with orders for rest and minimal magical healing for at _least_ the rest of the sennight.

That had been three days ago, and Hanami felt like she was going to crawl out of her own skin, but at least she had good company. Aymeric had spent the first two minutes of their first linkpearl call fretting, and the subsequent two minutes offering to come to La Noscea and see to her care himself; Hanami had flatly refused, since he had work and boredom had yet to kill her, which would be the only threat left to her under Adelaine’s watchful eye. She had spent the next two days hobbling around on her crutches as far as Adelaine would allow her, choking down foul healing serums, napping in her borrowed bed, and griping in Aymeric’s patient ear each night over linkpearl. Irritating little devices, she almost never used them, but they weren’t half so annoying as the fact that she could have been _home_ with him if she’d had the good sense to flee when Adelaine had zeroed in on her gait. With the sennight’s end and the reprieve it had brought Aymeric in his duties, though, he’d taken the first airship to Limsa Lominsa, arriving with his tender hands and gentle comfort that settled some of the restlessness crackling through her.

Even if he was stoking it now like a fire.

“The exertion might offer some manner of relief,” he said, punctuating his statement with a sip from his teacup, faintly steaming in the viscous air, the smell of syrup lost under the sweet, cloying aroma of the honeysuckle vine at his back. “Not that you should be allowed to overexert yourself, lest you exacerbate your injury.”

Hanami ground her teeth and very deliberately kept her hands clear of her own cup. It was mostly empty, only cooling dregs at the bottom. Aymeric had sipped his first cup slowly, and poured himself a refill, deliberate and careful as he spooned in the dripping syrup he favored, relaxed in the sunshine that graced the deck of the house. Straight face. Steady hand. Anyone walking by on the road might spot them and see nothing worth noting, far enough away to miss the trembling of Hanami’s thighs as she tensed them below the table. Aymeric’s eyes glinted in the shimmering golden sunlight.

“Only if you find yourself amenable to the suggestion, naturally,” he added, and Hanami curled her toes in her sandal to keep from doing something stupid, like climbing across the table, fractured leg be damned.

“Aymeric,” she hissed, jaw tight with restraint. For all that she felt like she might shake apart at the seams he was utterly, perfectly composed, only the faintest flush along the curve of his neck, visible under the unbuttoned top of his collar. It could have been the sun. She might have believed it if he hadn’t been running his filthy, beautiful mouth for the better part of a bell now, murmuring wicked worshipful suggestions over the porcelain rim of his cup, wolfish smile carefully tucked away.

“Of course we should be cautious of your leg,” he continued, tipping the cup against his mouth. “Fond as you are of riding my cock, I daresay such an arrangement won’t work in your current condition. You may simply have to lie back and allow me to have my way with you.”

If she tried to pick up her cup she was going to shatter it in her hands. She flexed her fingers against the varnished wood of the table instead. Fantasized, briefly, of sinking her nails into his lovely collar, the neat lines wilted in the heat, and tearing it open to expose that flush. Send it down his chest, guide his blush with ripped seams and clawed fingers.

She whined instead, unable to catch the noise in the back of her throat, and Aymeric’s cordial smile sharpened to a leer.

“Would you enjoy that?” he asked, all unwavering manners and smoldering voice, slowly dropping to the low rumble that she knew reverberated through his chest. The knowledge sent a shudder down her spine, heat pooling at the base of her pelvis. “I so _rarely_ get the chance to treat you, my most lovely, impatient light.”

She could draw trails down the white planes of his body, leave blooming-rose bruises as waymarks with her lips and her teeth, set him gasping with her mouth until he would be too busy begging for mercy to torment her. She could topple him from his chair and lay him down in the lush grasses and tangle flowers in his hair while she ate him _alive._ “Aymeric,” she repeated, somewhere between a plea and a warning, halfway to a growl. Her breath felt too tight for her body.

“I will be sure to take my time, so long as I have the chance,” he continued. He crossed his legs at the knee; the bottom of his shoe brushed the exposed skin of her ankle and she nearly arched up out of her seat at the contact. “Mayhaps I should start with my mouth. I could lay you on your back, have you on my knees. You would have to be careful not to move...though I suppose with your knees over my shoulders you wouldn’t be at risk of hitting the bed with your leg. Heavens know I would hate to disrupt either of us.” He leaned forward, braced his elbows on the table, tilted his head low to consider the teapot and glance at her through the shade of his eyelashes. His eyes were dark, winter sky-blue reduced to a thin ring around the blown-out black of his pupils. “I do so often find myself distracted by the taste of you, when you grant me the privilege, I fear I might forget myself. I swear a man could find cause to _worship_ between your thighs.”

Not any man, just _him,_ his sweet holy mouth speaking prayers into her body—she squeezed her thighs together now, to think of his lips and teeth trailing along the scales on her legs, along that sensitive seam, before pressing his tongue into the hottest part of her, bearing against the fluttering cramp of her core and stoking the sparks of pleasure to life, lighting her like a bonfire—

“I ought to use my fingers after,” he said, low and dark and crisp, the sweet swell of his knuckles white around his drink. “On my knees, still. Or, if you wish, I could join you on the bed. I could lie under you; you could use me as your chaise, just as you like to at home.” Another slow lean, a rock of resettling, the wood groaning beneath him as Hanami so badly wanted to groan but she couldn’t, not without biting her own tongue—”You fit so _perfectly_ between my legs, so it should work out quite well. I could use my hands on you—one between your legs, and one on your breasts? Or your hair, if you would rather. I could pull your hair while I fucked you with my fingers, you do so enjoy that, even if it would be a shame not to see your face.”

_“Fuck,”_ she hissed, finally, her breath broken free on the thought of his perfect broad fingers, his hands that were so much bigger than her own cupping her body, dipping into her, drawing out her pleasure, sinking into her hair and sending levin straight to the base of her spine—

“I would be able to see your face when I had you _properly,_ though,” he promised, his rumbling voice dripping into something dark and golden, thick with filthy oaths. “Not from under you, not without hurting you. I hope you could be patient while I laid you on your back, while I spread your legs and pressed you into the mattress—not hard, not this time,” he said, finally setting the cup down, the steam dissipated into the afternoon that felt cool against her blazing skin. “Slow and deep, so I could watch you take my cock. I could use my hands, too, and my mouth, wherever you wished. I would _hate_ to leave you wanting.”

_Wanting,_ she could choke on wanting, on the honey-thick air between them and the sweet cold fire of his eyes—she could draw him down over her, hold his body against hers while he fucked her, wind her arms over the broad lines of his shoulders and bury her face in his neck, sink her teeth into his skin as she shook apart around him, under his tender attentions and perfect veneration—

_“Aymeric,”_ she finally snapped, clenching her fingers around the edge of her seat, careful to still her hips despite the urge to squirm, to ease the perfect pressure swelling between her legs. “Take me to bed _now_ or you will get to explain why we are having sex in the garden.”

A predator-smooth motion of his body as he stood, the chair squeaking against the deck as the flex of his knees pushed it back. “As my beloved demands,” he said, perfectly polite as he rounded the table, even as he gripped her by her thighs and lifted her to wind her legs around his hips, to press the eager swell in his pants against the fluttering heat in her own.

In their haste to make good on his promises, they left both their cups and Hanami’s crutches at the mercy of the afternoon, but she couldn’t find it in herself to complain.

—

After—or rather, a few _afters_ later—Aymeric pressed a careful kiss to the curve of Hanami’s shoulder, just visible under the edge of the blanket he had pulled over them both before settling into a sated doze. He’d already managed to extricate himself from the covers, skin prickling in the sea air that blew in through the open window, the heady afternoon breeze turned cool with impending nightfall. Now he eased himself off the end of the bed, cautious of creaking springs; Hanami shifted in her sleep and her tail twitched under the covers, but she otherwise showed no sign of waking, and he stepped into his clothes as quietly as he could and shut the window against the chilling night.

At least Hanami seemed relaxed, finally, in a way she hadn’t all day. The near-imperceptible tension running up the line of her spine had released, leaving her calm in her repose, melting into the tangle of blankets with her bound leg cradled in a brace of cushions. No longer buzzing and snappish with boredom. Aymeric paused to offer a fierce, silent prayer for her swift recovery, if only for the sake of her sanity. He knew her to be able to withstand many trials that would fell ordinary men, but enforced idleness was not one of them.

He crept to the door, thinking to retrieve some semblance of sustenance—and, he thought, sheepish even in his own mind, tidy up their dishes from earlier—and upon opening it was greeted by an empty hallway and Hanami’s crutches, stacked neatly on the threshold.

_Ah,_ he thought, calmly. _Damn._

He first retrieved the crutches and propped them up on the nightstand, in easy reach for Hanami should she wake, and then stole down the silent hall, navigating the turns to the accompaniment of the creaking timbers of the house. The doorway to the kitchen stood open, the sounds of running water and clinking ceramic accosting him on his escape to the yard, and when he glanced around the corner he saw a familiar tea set upturned on the drying rack next to the sink, the house’s resident healer rinsing a plate under the stream of water. She turned away from the sink to give him a flat, exasperated look, rather out of place on a woman who Aymeric was fairly sure couldn’t be out of her early twenties.

“Just bring your cups inside next time, please,” she said, frowning. “We’ll get ants.”

Aymeric dipped his head in acquiescence, somewhat unwilling to meet her eyes to offer a more formal apology, flushed with the shame of being caught with his metaphorical trousers about his ankles. “Of course,” he said. “My apologies for the mess.”

“And keep her leg elevated,” the young woman—even more shamefully, Aymeric couldn’t recall her name at the moment, and it hardly felt the opportune moment to ask—added, exhausted and firm, in a tone that reminded him quite suddenly of Captain Whitecape. “Remember to ice it between—”

_“Yes,_ ma’am,” Aymeric said, immediately and completely incapable of surviving whatever frank and all-too-personal conversation this was about to become, and retreated back down the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> for inspiration and enabling the likes of which brought _this_ about, come join us in the [book club](https://discord.gg/9h2scPZ).


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